Vines
by YarsAvenger
Summary: The revolution is over, but the battle is far from won for our two victors Peeta and Katniss. Now back in 12, they both have to face their inner demons and come out the other side still breathing.   A Post-Mockingjay/Pre-Epilogue fan fiction.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Smoke.

Flooding my field of vision and blurring my senses. Frantic hands search around me for clues and find the quilt under me as well as my bed. I'm home, I rationalize, but what's on fire? My body feels weightless as I throw myself out of bed and race down the stairs. I don't even need to be a the foot of them to see the glow of flames and feel their heat. The fire is blinding and smog burns my eyes. Just when I think I am lost I hear a voice, so soft that I can barely hear it.

_Katniss_

Prim. It's Prim! Terror floods me as I make out her small form in the middle of the inferno, her back towards me as the flames engulf her. I scream something at her, to get away, plunging into the flames just so I can reach her. I almost there, but it's too late. The smell of burning flesh, the smell so similar to burning meat in a frying pan. It is a smell my nose has unfortunately become to accustomed to. My knees give way, and I fall to the ground that is covered in flames. A trembling hand reaches out for her, my last attempt to save her. I am still too far to reach her but she turns to me.

Her face, oh God.

The blaze has taken it from Prim, my Prim. White bone mixed with blackened pink muscles marbleize her face in what looks to be some grotesque mask. Eyes have long ago been taken from her, so only darkened pits remain, but they stare directly into my eyes. Her mouth opens, shakily, making a soft moist squeak as it does so.

_Katniss_

Her jaw opens wide, too wide, and with a pop it falls to the ground with a wet thud.

I immediately jolt awake, breathing heavily and drenched in sweat. My chest thumps away in terror as I slowly realize that it was only a dream. Deep breaths, I tell myself, just like Dr. Aurelius told me to do. My name is Katniss Everdeen, I remind myself. I am seventeen years old. I was in the Hunger Games. I fought the capitol. I won. My home is once again District 12. Peeta is in 12 with me. So is Haymitch.

Shakily, I rise from my bed and walk to the bathroom. My name is Katniss Everdeen. Just one more time, I tell myself, to be sure.

The simple facts go through my head like the steady beat of a drum. As my hands reach the cool metal of the shower knobs, I notice that my heart rate had decreased significantly. I strip down and step into the shower. I don't wait for it to heat up, right now I need the coldness against my skin to remind me that this is real. I let the cool water run down my body, washing away the terrible dream and its images. I'm tired, but too shaken up over what just happened to want to sleep.

When Greasy Sae enters my home in the morning, she feigns surprise to see me sitting at the table. I don't know how long I was waiting there, just staring off into space, before she arrived. This wasn't uncommon though. Most days I am already awake by the time she comes in to make breakfast.

She asks me what I want. I respond with 'nothing', but she starts cooking eggs for me anyways. I still don't know why she is so bent on making sure I eat something, I suspect my Mother to play a hand in this. Pay off Greasy Sae to prevent herself from having to come home. I should be angry, but I just can't muster the effort right now.

I notice something missing when I hear the raw egg hit the skittle. Greasy's granddaughter usually accomplices her on her trips over here, but this morning she is missing.

"Where's-" I start but Greasy answer's my question immediately.

"Vivi?" I can hear the smile on her face, "Peeta offered to look after her. Said he'll bring her back after deliveries this morning." The elderly woman scrapes the egg around in the pan for a bit, making sizzles that remind me of my nightmare last night.

Eyebrows furrow slightly with confusion, "He is taking her on a delivery run?" I didn't know Vivi could hold her attention long enough to do such a thing and not wander off in the process. It seemed counter productive of Peeta to bring her.

"Oh yes," She says, "Vivi is quite the little helper." Greasy places the plate of scrambled eggs in front of me. "Would you like anything to drink?"

I shake my head and just look at the plate dully. The old woman starts puttering around the kitchen, cleaning a few things, putting things away. I don't want to eat, not after that dream last night. However, I force myself to take a bite or two. They taste pretty good, but I already feel my stomach acid start to bubble up. The fork makes a metallic thunk and I place it on the plate. If I were to eat anymore I would be seeing them again.

A soft breeze wafts in from the open kitchen window. It's getting warmer now, summer will soon be here. It reminds me that I've been back in 12 for four months now. The district has changed, parts are being rebuilt even better than they were before. The steam, though still for the working class, is not nearly as decrepit as it used to be. Former inhabitants are starting to return, and even though they seem sluggish at first they now all have taken in the new life the district has been given. Restoration is in the air for everyone but me.

Buttercup, the cat who would not die, weaves between my legs. I take this opportunity to slip the mean spirited creature some of my eggs. Just in time too, because Greasy just finished straightening up and is now pouring herself some tea out of the kettle.

"You really should eat more, dear." The elderly woman takes her cup and sits across from me at the table. "You won't get to feeling better if you don't."

Before I can even argue with her I hear a child like squeal outside. My front door bursts open and the little girl races over to her Grandmother, face glowing with a grin. An enclosed fist is raised to Greasy, and the older woman holds out and open palm underneath. Vivi releases her hand and a small collection of pebbles falls out.

"Thank you, Vivi. They are beautiful." Greasy says with a smile and tucks them into the pocket of her skirt.

"That's good," A voice coming through the door said, "She spent all morning trying to find the right ones."

His dirty blond hair looks a little wind blown as he shuts the entrance behind himself. It had been a couple of days since I'd seen him last. Even though he wasn't the same Peeta I had known before it was still nice to see someone familiar that isn't Greasy. He greets me, to which I respond with a simple 'hey' as he drops his now empty bag off at the door. Greasy starts some small talk with him, asking how the morning deliveries went.

"Very well, seems like more and more people are coming back everyday now." He walks over to the sink and starts washing off his hands. "Vivi was a great help."

My attention turns to the young girl who is now pulling out several bowls from the cupboard and has started rearranging them by color and size. Greasy starts to scold her for undoing all of her hard work of cleaning up the place, but I stop her.

"It's okay. Let her have fun and I'll put them away later." Vivi was strange for a seven year old, but harmless. Besides if she wasn't playing with the bowls she would just find a different kind of trouble to get into.

The three of us talk for a short while, but the words feel devoid of meaning to me. It's like we are just trains on a track, only going in a certain direction because we are forced to. After a while, Vivi seems to have grown tired of playing with the bowls and now wants to leave. The small girl tugs on her Grandmother's hand but she subdues her.

"Vivi, you know we can't leave till Katniss finishes breakfast." She casts me a warning look.

Peeta cuts in, "It's okay, you two can leave. I'll make sure she finishes. I need to work on a cake to deliver by three today anyways." He glances my way. "If you don't mind me staying here to make it that is." I shake my head in response. The kitchen is fully stocked even though I rarely cook.

Reluctantly, Greasy accepts his proposal and it's obvious that she's growing a bit anxious herself. I'm sure she has much more that she needs to do today besides babysit me. As soon as the door closes the kitchen is plunged back into silence. The kitchen clock ticks once, twice, three times.

"Are you going to finish that?" Peeta motions to the plate in front of me. "Don't worry, I won't make you."

I shake my head, "I feel queasy today. I couldn't even if I wanted to."

"Alright." He removes it, gets up, and scrapes the rest into the trash. "You just have to promise me that you'll eat something for lunch and finish dinner."

"Okay." I feel a bit like a child, but I know that he's just making sure Greasy won't worry.

We don't really speak much for the rest of the morning. He waters the primroses, and forces me to help. He starts on the cake, and I assist again with less resistance this time. It was good to see him baking, but just when I think things could possibly go back to being normal I see the distance in his once warm blue eyes. He is simply going through the motions like I am, and I loose a little hope.

Peeta apparently saved a couple of cheese rolls for me this morning, and I munch on one later while he decorates the cake. Skilled hands carefully ice it and create flowers of red and blue, I watch in fascination.

"What?" He plainly asks after he notices my stare.

"Nothing," I shrug and take another bite of the roll. "it's just interesting to watch you work."

Soon the cake is done and is placed into a box. Gently, he places it in his bag and starts for the door before I stop him with a question.

"Are you coming back?"

"I don't know, is that an invitation?" There is a certain air of caution in his voice.

"I guess." I answer with a small shrug.

He nods and departs. I'm left on my own for two hours, a time which I fully savor. I don't mind either of them, not in the least, but I dislike the feeling of constantly being watched over. My mind wanders back to a day that felt so close and yet so far away, the day when I shot Coin and tried to end myself with the pill. It was Peeta who stopped me and refused to let go, and some days I'm still angry with him for it. Recently though, I haven't really wanted to die. I suppose this is an improvement. I just feel blank, like a machine or a computer. No emotions at all besides the small flickers of terror and depression that seep through the cracks.

Retreating to the living room I see the pile of papers from the capital that the doctor gave me. I hadn't started on the memory book yet, and I feel a little guilty for it. It doesn't take me long to find a pencil and I start on the first entry: Mags.

I start with what I know, that she was a tribute and victor from a previous Hunger Games and a volunteer for the Quarter Quell in order to keep Annie safe. An old woman who, back in her days when her mind was sharper, was a mentor to both Finnick and Annie. I write a little more, but it seems to stop there. Haymitch would have to help me fill out the facts a little bit more. He would know.

It's not long before Greasy, her granddaughter, and Peeta come back for dinner. Peeta tries his best to keep Vivi entertained with a game he made up on the spot where he hides a spoon in plain sight somewhere in the kitchen or living room and then she has to go find it. It works, and keeps the little girl out of the way while Greasy cooks some sort of stew.

I think back to when times were harder and she had to put wild dog in it in order to fill out the meal. She assures us this time that today that's not the case. It simply has some vegetables and the left over chicken from a few nights ago.

The salty and starchy smell of the stew fills the house as by the time it is complete. My stomach feels less sick, but I still give myself a smaller portion just in case. We sit around the table, talking like we did before but still keeping the same distance. Peeta never seems to speak directly to me, just to Greasy and Vivi. I savor the stew that mostly taste like salt with a hint of tomato, only chatting if I need to.

Soon the evening draws to a close. By the time Greasy is done cleaning and leaving out the door I have pulled out Mags' sheet again to work on it more. This grabs Peeta's attention, making him stop gathering his things to leave and instead sits back down beside me.

"What are you working on?" Genuinely curious eyes scan over the paper.

"A memory book." I explain how I wanted to write down everyone who died, my memories of them and what they looked like.

"Good idea." This seems to perk him up a bit, and sees me now struggling to draw Mags because I don't have a picture of her. He gestures towards the page. "May I?"

I surrender the pencil and paper knowing that I wouldn't be able to do as good of a job. Peeta starts drawing what he can remember of her. "It would be nice if we could get Haymitch to give us a picture from when she was younger. I feel sort of bad depicting her as frail as she was."

I agree with him, it would be nice to see Mags as she used to be. Young and vibrant. He is doing a great job sketching her though, the image seems alive and full of energy.

"Finnick is dead, real or not real?" He asks out of nowhere, it seems like our game is starting.

"Real." My mind goes back to the dark tunnels with the lizard mutants. The memory conjures up the images for me up to the moment where Finnick's head came clean off.

Peeta's voice interrupts the scene in my mind. "You killed him, real or not real?"

"Not real." Though I feel responsible.

"You were pregnant, real or not real?" The question shoots off immediately after my answer.

"Not real." I promptly say and it's the answer I'm most thankful for.

"That's good." A sigh of relief escapes him, "They told me you miscarried. I didn't like it. I can't believe they would make something like that up just to hurt me."

"They didn't, you did." Peeta seems surprised so I elaborate. "You came up with it during the interviews during the Quarter Quell. You were trying to get the sympathy of the Capital to save us. Later the rebels said I miscarried for the same reasons."

"They bought it?" And he's honestly shocked by this.

"Of course!" My head gives a slight nod. "Peeta Mellark, you are an excellent liar."

It was supposed to be a compliment, but it seemed to fall flat. Peeta returns his concentration to the book. These questions are odd to me, he seems more confused than usual.

"I loved you, real or not real?" His gaze remains fixed on the book, concentrating on his sketches. I'm almost surprised by how casual it sounds, he might as well be asking me what time it is.

"Real." I say without hesitation.

"Okay," His blond head gives a small nod, and there is a beat of silence. "You loved me, real or not real?"

"I-" My mind froze as my stomach plummeted. I could feel my cheeks warm up a bit as the question sunk in. I know the answer, don't I? This question was bound to happen sooner or later, I just wish it was later rather than now.

"It's okay, you can tell me the truth." It was meant to reassure me, but it came off oddly cold and desolate. Peeta's eyes remain locked on the drawings, adding a little bit of detail here or there to fully flesh out the image. "It's not like I'm going to be mad or something. You don't need to baby me."

The his words crush me like bag of bricks and I honestly can't say why. If I didn't love him, then it wouldn't bother me that he would say something like that. If I did, I would feel no reason to withhold it from him.

"Are you done yet?" I'm through playing this stupid game for tonight.

Finally he looks up, bewilderment on his face. "I guess?"

"Good," I take the page from him and place it back in the box. "I'm tired and you keep asking difficult questions."

He tries to apologize but by then I'm already halfway up the stairs.

* * *

><p>AN: Well, here I am again after not writing on fanfic in years. It feels a little strange to come back to this place after all this time but I needed to do something creative and this little story just ended up spilling out of me.

Yes, it's yet another Post-Mockingjay/Pre-Epilogue. If Suzanne Collins didn't want us all writing so much fan fiction then maybe she should have given us more closure, am I right? Oh well. Here's my story, one of many but hopefully you'll enjoy it. If I have any major errors with the cannon or you have any constructive criticism then feel free to speak up. I'm a college kid and not sensitive about my work.

Thanks for reading, I don't legally own this stuff, and I'll update soon so keep your eyes peeled!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Sleep would not come to me tonight. I lay in bed, simply staring out at the darkness around me while my mind played back the events of the day. It felt like a film, like I wasn't truly there and it was just something I saw on television.

_You loved me. _I waited for the words to make a response in me, just so I could know the answer. Just so it could stop plaguing me.

Nothing.

Laying sleepless in bed only is making me anxious. I need to find something else to do that will hopefully tire me out. My mind wanders to the closet. The place that held my bow and arrows. Greasy had been nagging at me to go hunt again, hoping that it would restore what was lost in me. I'm not hopeful, but if I couldn't sleep anyways I might as well go out.

Removing my nightgown and throwing on my old worn pants and brown shirt. I swung the quiver over my shoulder and took the bow in my hand. I caught a glance of myself in the mirror before I headed down the stairs. It looked like I was just about to embark on just another day, but it was my eyes that gave me away. They were tired and dull with bags under them, proving that things had changed within me. I blocked out any more thoughts that came to mind and made my way to the front door. My hand grasps the cold handle and with a quick twist I open it.

With that, I departed into the night. The cool air clings to me as I make my way through the sleeping District 12. It felt like it was when I first got back: completely empty and still. Almost as if I was the last person on the whole planet. I first come to the merchant district, passing the skeletons of the buildings that were and the buildings that would be along my way. When I pass by the Mellark's old bakery it seemed like it was cleared of its rubble. A simple concrete slab foundation is what remains of the old place.

It didn't take me much longer after that to get to the steam. Probably the most changed out of all of 12, I almost don't recognize it at first. Large sections of the rubble has been cleared out and newer homes are being built. They are modest, but do not seem nearly as frail or worn as they were in the past. With more money coming from the Capitol to rebuild the district can afford to make living arrangements more comfortable than previous.

I get to the edge of town, with the fence now completely gone I no longer have to duck under anything or worry about being stuck out in the forest once the electricity gets turned back on. It still feels a little bit strange, and I have to fight the habit of ducking through the wires.

The mass of trees grows bigger and bigger as I move closer to it. Soon I am at the edge of my forest the trees are the only thing that clouds my line of vision. The world around me is plunged into almost complete darkness if it weren't for the small sliver's of moonlight guiding my way. My feet know just how to step, my ears can pick up the slightest of rustling around me.

I originally came out here to hunt, but I decide against it. The meat would be bad by morning anyways. Instead I use my time to reorient myself with the forest. I let the earthy smells of this place fill my nostrils, searching for that moment. The moment where everything clicks together again and I am made whole.

It doesn't happen. My body may remember this place but mentally I feel like a stranger.

After some time, I make my way to a small stream for a drink. The soreness in my legs remind me how long it's been since my last visit, and how tired I am now. I don't want to go back yet, so I move myself to a beech tree a couple paces away and rest underneath it.

I close my eyes for only a moment.

With the cannon blast I flash awake, heart pounding. Panic rises in my stomach, tightening my insides as it travels up my body. The forest around me had changed into something eerily familiar. It's only when I hear the dull rumble of a growl to my left are my fears confirmed.

I'm back in the Games.

Springing to my feet I break out into a full sprint straight ahead, but my legs feel slower than usual. I can hear the mutt more clearly now, and that only makes me put even more energy into my run. I don't bother to look back, but I steer off to my right in an effort to loose the creature. Large paws thunder through the forest making no effort to hunt me silently.

Once I feel like there is enough distance between me and the mutt, I come to a sliding stop and duck behind a thick tree trunk. It's impossible to out run it, so I'm going to have to out smart it. Cautiously, I look out into the forest. It doesn't take me long to spot the creature illuminated by dull moonlight.

It was smaller than most of them and covered in red fur indicating to me that it is Foxface's mutation. Not that it made much of a difference, the creatures only held a physical resemblance not a mental one to the tributes. It stopped for a moment and began to sniff the air to find me. My hand quickly grabs an arrow out of my quiver, notch it, and fire it deep into the forest in the opposite direction from me. I could hear the shaking of branches as my arrow whizzed through the air. The creature bought it and sprinted towards the noise. Shame to waste an arrow, but I don't have much choice.

I begin to continue my trek for safety, going farther into the forest. It's only a few paces before my feet fail me and I tumble over something large and soft. I hit the ground hard and I strain my eyes trying to see what lies before me only to discover an all too familiar face. Body bloated with large red and white welts and skin like wax. Her face is only centimeters from mine, filling my nostrils with the sour smells of decay. I feel a scream rise up in my throat, but I clasp my hands over my mouth. I can't scream. If I do the mutt will find me.

My vision remains glued to Glimmer's face, refusing to move. Then her green eyes flashed open, almost as if someone had turned a switch, and stare deeply into mine. A dull buzz starts rumbling from deep within her and only grows louder when her lips part. A gold tracker jacker climbs out and perches on her lips. One, two, three crawl out then more before a whole swarm irrupts out of Glimmer. This time I couldn't hold back my screams as I jump up and try to get away.

Suddenly, I'm sitting under the beech tree again. My head is racing. This area is too open, I'll be found quickly. I have to climb up, I'm so tired but I have to climb. I grasp on to the tree, fortunately being able to grab a low enough branch to pull myself up. I continue up till I find a branch that could support my full body weight and a shorter branch by it to keep me from slipping off.

Once I feel secure I force myself to shut my eyes. As soon as they close though, I'm thrown back into a dark forest filled with mutts and dead tributes. I'm constantly running from one threat to another and no matter how hard I try to force myself to stop dreaming, I remain stuck inside this hell my mind created for me.

What wakes me isn't the feeling of sunlight on my face, but the crunching of twigs and leaves below. Someone is coming.

I bolt awake and in one quick movement I draw my weapon. Bow clutched tightly in one hand, I push myself against the tree as hard as I can. When I look below our eyes lock, my furious gray ones with his dull blue. In that moment, I am truly thankful that I did not draw an arrow.

Reality comes back to me suddenly and my whole body starts to shake. The nightmare was so vivid this time that it blended together with what actually existed. I've gone crazy. I'm completely out of my mind, and to make matters worst Peeta had to be the one to find me.

"Katniss?" His voice calls out to me.

"Yeah?" Mine waivers and I choke down the nervous tears. "Don't worry I'm coming down."

I steady myself and slowly climb down the tree with caution. The Games have been over for so long now, how could I have made that mistake?

"You slept in a tree?" Peeta inquired once I got down to the ground.

"I thought I was," I try to fight it, but my body starts quivering again. This isn't right, this has never happened to me before. "I think-"

"You got confused." I nodded in response as he gives me a half smile. "It's okay Katniss, I get confused all the time. You know that."

My mind still feels a bit frazzled. He's trying to comfort me but I want more than just words. Why can't he just hold me like he used to? If he was to find me like this before the rebellion he would have used this opportunity to get close to me. To wrap me in his warm arms and calm me down.

Then I notice his tightly clenched fists in his pockets. That's why.

"Why are you here?" I really wanted to ask 'how', but this question had more answers to it.

"Well Greasy said you weren't in this morning. When she found that your bow and arrows were missing from the hall closet she made the deduction that you were out." His shoulders made a little shrug. "When you didn't come back for a couple of hours she got worried, called me, and asked me to come out and find you. She was over reacting, but I didn't see the harm in it."

"What time is it?"

"I headed out at ten, but I got lost for at least an hour. Lucky I found you." He replied, hands still stuffed into his pockets. Peeta's frame seems to be growing more tense by the moment. I'm not particularly threatened because I know I can easily out run him, but I don't want to take any chances.

"Come on, let's go home." I sling my bow over my shoulder and head out into the forest first so that I can guide us back.

The forest seems transformed from the night. Sunlight illuminates the thick green leaves of the canopy, casting a pattern of dark shadows with specked with bright light. The only sounds around us are the birds and our footsteps. I still feel shaken up over the whole ordeal, but I don't want it to show. I focus on the world around me, the damp ground below and the trees above. Peeta stays several paces behind me, moving at a much slower pace. I can tell he's trying to struggle down the flashback because every so often he stops for a couple of seconds before continuing. Seeing as he hasn't attacked me yet, I'd say it was a minor one.

His footsteps falter for a moment too long, I continue on for a couple paces before halting myself to investigate.

"What?" My gaze turns towards him to make sure things are alright.

Peeta is two strides away from me, eyebrows furrowed as he concentrates on something. Sun shining on his hair, making it look more golden than dirty brown. I notice that his hands are no longer stuffed into his pockets, but instead hang much more relaxed at his sides. Finally, he speaks.

"Do you still love me?"

"Peeta?" His question hit me like a brick to the head. It was so out of the blue. One minute he's fighting down a bad memory and now he wants to talk about our feelings.

"I want to know." There was a small hint of his former warmth and sheepishness in this statement.

"What difference does it make?" I finally say weakly. I don't even want to talk about this right now. Not after everything that has already happened today. "_You _don't love me anymore, Snow saw through to that. We just have to deal with what's left."

"But what's left Katniss?" His voice raised in volume, frustration slightly showing through. It was actually a good question.

"Drop it Peeta." My tired voice snaps out of my mouth. I can't understand why this is so important that he needs to bother me with this. "I don't really have feelings for anything anymore so it doesn't matter."

My words, as usual, come out cluttered and unclear. Obviously, he seems a hurt by my statement and I immediately start to regret what I've said. We continue walking for a few yards before I hear him speak again.

"So you feel nothing for me? I'm nothing to you?" Voice small and defeated.

"Peeta. You know that's not what I mean." I turn my head towards him but he doesn't return my gaze. There are so many questions on his face, and he fights back each one to prevent more disappointment. "I'm just really tired, okay?"

I want to apologize, I should apologize. However the words won't come to me. We don't speak again until we get back into town.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Wow, I'm actually pretty surprised. Three reviews, seven favorites and fourteen alerts. Not too bad for a first chapter response. Thank you guys for reading and I hope you liked this chapter as much as the first one. Things seem kinda bad for our star crossed lovers right now, but don't worry. It's always darkest right before dawn.<p>

I caught a few more grammatical errors in this one during my final review. Hopefully I caught them all. If not, I'm sorry. I'm used to writing in third person past tense so writing in first person present tense is out of my comfort area. Sometimes I slip into past tense when I don't mean to.

Thank you guys again, keep reading, and I'll have another chapter for you guys soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

When we make it back to the steam I'm still trying to find a way to apologize to Peeta. However the words: "Are you coming to dinner tonight?" are the only things I can think of right now. Peeta refuses to even look at me.

"I don't know. I don't think so." His voices sounds unattached, his mind clearly somewhere else at the moment.

We give each other a quick goodbye, neither of us giving the other even the slightest glance. I head up towards the Victor's Village, and Peeta heads off in a different direction towards the Market.

Mother calls shortly after I get home, but when we speak our words are like dried leaves. Fragile and thin. We talk about little things. Like the weather or how her new job is at the hospital. All the while avoiding what truly is on our minds. I want so badly to talk to someone about it, someone who's experienced the same loss.

However, much like when I was in the forest with Peeta, I couldn't come up with the right things to say to her. Once the phone is back in it's receiver I can feel the tears well up as I try so desperately to fight them down. It's no use, I can already feel my nose start to run.

Retreating into the living room, I curl up on the large plush couch. Drawing my knees close into my chest, as small tears start to flow. If only the would just come all out at once, just let myself get hysterical but I just can't. Instead I just sniffle a bit while this huge knot stays in my chest.

Buttercup makes a small meow as he greets me and rubs himself against the sofa. I limply put my hand down which he sniffs and then gives a reassuring lick. He then pushes his head under my hand and forces me to stroke his muddy yellow head. At least the stupid cat is trying to share in my misery. It's still strange to think that I would ever be grateful for him.

Fortunately, I pull myself together just in time for Greasy to come over to fix dinner which is some sort of mixed vegetables with tomato sauce. Obviously Greasy hasn't been able to get her hands on any meat yet or else I'm sure her dishes would be full of it. Bits of yellow and green poke up through the red sea that surrounds them and I can't help but smell a hint of something slightly spicy.

Vivi plays with a fork and a spoon, babbling to herself, as her grandmother tries to start a conversation with me. How was the woods? Did Peeta actually find me? How is that boy doing? I respond with simple one to two word responses, but eat the food she's made which seems to please her more than making small talk with me. She begins to cleans and then leaves almost as quickly as she came, leaving the house in a strange sort of coldness.

I didn't want to be alone, but I didn't want to see Peeta and risk saying something else to hurt him more. I need to escape from all of this, and unfortunately the forest isn't enough for me right now. Haymitch comes to mind and I find myself walking out my house and to his that was not too far away. It takes only a few minutes before I'm at his door and giving it a firm knock.

I hear some shuffling inside along with a few 'just a minute's. It's not long before the door swings open to reveal a disheveled Haymitch complete with bottle in hand.

"Sweetheart!" Haymitch gives me a half smile, his words saturated with the stench of liquor. "What brings you here?" It had been a while since I last saw my mentor, but he mostly remains unchanged.

"I'm here for a drink." The words come out very prompt and almost a little too proper sounding.

Haymitch studies me for a moment with his sleepy looking eyes, he's easily been drinking all day. He scoffs with disbelief. "No you're not."

I roll my gray eyes at him. "Fine, either way I need someone to talk to that isn't Peeta or Greasy."

He welcomes me in with a nod and escorts me to his kitchen table that was empty besides one clear glass. The house is in complete and utter chaos. Dishes stacked high in the sink, most of them still covered with food. Gray feathers and the odd empty glass scatter the wood floor and go back as far as I can see. Not to mention the empty bottles that rest on everything that has a surface.

Haymitch was the epitome of a middle aged bachelor and his addiction didn't make it any better.

"So, let me guess." He took a seat and I did the same. "Boy troubles?"

I shoot him a hard glare, mostly because he's right. "You know that part is over."

My lie is obvious and even though he is inebriated Haymitch doesn't buy it for a second. That smug smirk plays on his lips as he fills up the glass on the table. "What was it this time?"

"This really isn't about that!" More disbelief. "Okay, it's not _all_ about that. He just keeps harassing me about feelings and things." I say dismissively.

"Okay." He takes a long drink before putting it down, all the while expecting me to go on.

I begin with my Mother and how hard it is to talk to her now after everything has happened. I talk about how my nightmares get more vivid each night and how I am considering swearing off sleep forever. I feel so empty all the time, I admit to him, and I don't know what I should do. All the while he just keeps a blank look on his face. He's not listening but he doesn't need to make it so obvious.

But when I get to the part about the woods last night, that's when I finally get a somewhat sympathetic reaction.

"Okay." He said as he put the bottle down on the table with a pointed 'thunk' and interrupting my speech. His arm reached around the floor and found a somewhat clean glass. He quickly turns it over to knock out anything that remains in it before setting it in front of me. The tumbler is then filled with the clear liquid from the bottle. "You do need this."

"Thank you." I mutter and take a gulp. It tingles down my throat with warmth and I already feel my face becoming a bit flushed. This stuff seems stronger than I remember.

We sit in the quiet for a moment. I take another sip, longer this time. Haymitch then finally speaks.

"It's like that a lot." The words come out strangely clear for him this time of day. "I remember waking up and not being sure of where I was."

Tension filled the air, it was unusual for him to open up even as little as this. I gulp down more of the clear liquid, I could taste the smokiness in it more this time. I give a glance down and realize that my glass is empty. That's strange, I don't really remember drinking that much.

"I locked myself in a closet once." He shrugged, pouring more into his glass then mine. I expected him to go on but he didn't. It seemed like the most I was going to get out of him.

"It's just never been that bad before." I could feel my face start to numb just a little bit. "There is always that small moment of being disoriented, but I've always figured it out in a second."

My drunk mentor gives a bobbling nod "Well, get used to it sweetheart. It's not going away anytime soon."

Heart sinks, I knew he would only have negative things to say but I secretly hoped that he wouldn't say them. Another swallow of liquid dances down to my stomach.

Our conversation starts to meander. He vaguely talks about his experiences after coming home from the games and even coming home after the revolution. None of them are fully elaborated upon and seem to be more like floating thoughts that come into his head. I would be annoyed, but I'm finding myself not caring less and less. I wonder if this is what Haymitch feels all the time, and I almost see why he is drunk more than he is sober.

Before I know it, I'm halfway through my third glass. That's when I start to talk about Peeta.

"I don't get why all of this 'love' stuff is important, you know?" My head rests in my hand, feeling heavier than usual. I say a couple of other things but they quickly drift away from my memory.

"He comes over here a lot you know." He smugly replies. "Asks a bunch of questions about you."

"What questions?" I rapidly spit out.

"Oh you know, questions." Haymitch mutters into his alcohol before taking a final swig of his drink.

"No I don't know!" I find myself unreasonably angry about this revelation. Though it's probably more of the alcohol speaking at this point.

"Why are you so upset about this?" Again with that mocking grin of his.

I just stare at him, and several times I start a sentence but quickly stop because it's making no sense to me in my head anymore.

I take an oblivion seeking gulp, finishing off the glass. "I'm going home."

Haymitch says something to me as I leave, but I don't catch it. Or I forget it. Either way I find myself stumbling out of his bachelor pad and trying to get back to my house. Fortunately I'm a bit more sober than I was the first time I drank with my mentor so finding my way home isn't too difficult. All the while I feeling unreasonably angry with Peeta over talking to Haymitch more than me.

Once I finally get back I'm slightly struggling to put the key in the key hole. It's strange, though my mind is only somewhat coherent, and I'm confident that this should prove no problem to me. Just when it slides in with a click, I'm interrupted.

"Katniss?" I hear a familiar voice behind me.

I whirl around to see Peeta himself standing a few feet away, with a very puzzled look on his face. I briefly wonder why he is showing up at my house so late but it doesn't stay in my head long enough to ask.

"Hey." I reply instead. There is an awkward silence that follows. "You want to come in?" He gives a hesitant nod and follows me inside.

"Have you been drinking?" He says to me suddenly once we get inside and close the door. I reason that he must have smelled it on me. Or it could be for the fact it took me longer than usual to unlock the door.

"Maybe." I put my keys on a small table by the door way when we step in.

"Katniss!" Of course Peeta would scold me about this and this only makes my fire of frustration grow more within me.

"So? There is nothing wrong with having a drink, Peeta." I slurred a bit, though I still tried to put on the air of being completely sober. "I'm not even drunk."

"No, there isn't. But there is something wrong with getting addicted."

"I'm not addicted." Moron.

"Not yet. I just don't want this to become a thing for you." As he says this I turn my back to him and start my way to the kitchen.

"You're over reacting." Obviously.

"I don't think I am. Katniss we need to talk to each other if we're having problems."

"What about you going over to Haymitch and asking about me all the time?" I turn to face him, still feeling a bit wobbly.

"What? I-" Blond eyebrows raised slightly with confusion.

"So you hardly ever talk to me when you're around but you feel the need to consult him about me?" I realize that I'm shouting now.

"Are you seriously angry about that?"

"Of course I'm angry!" I throw my hands up in frustration at him. "I'm angry, I'm sad, I'm frustrated."

"Well then." Peeta cuts me off, his annoyance over this whole thing cracking through. "For someone who claims that she doesn't have feelings, you certainly are having a lot of them right now." If he was attempting to take a stab at me, it works.

"You just don't get it." I retort, trying to recover from his verbal blow.

"Of course I get it. If no one else does, I do. We've been through the same thing." He reaches out to grab my shoulder reassuringly, but I dismiss it. The effort to make peace is wasted.

"No, we haven't!" I scoff at the idea.

"Really? Okay, how is what we're both going through different?" Skepticism plays clearly on his face, and he waits for his answer.

"They took everything from me, Peeta." I throw it at him like an ax.

"You still have your mother." He says weakly, trying once more to appeal to reason. I can tell he doesn't want to fight anymore but I continue to dig in.

"Then where is she Peeta?" The words hiss out like venom.

"I'm still here." He said it so small that I could barely hear it.

"No you're not!" I can hear my voice crack a bit. "They even took you away."

It looks like I just slapped him across the face and the room takes a plunge into stillness. He starts to say something but then stops. Then, somewhere within him, an invisible dam broke.

"You know what? I don't deserve to be treated like this right now." Peeta promptly responded, as if he just had the revelation. "It's not like you're the only one in the world who lost someone. My whole family is dead."

"Mom, Dad, my two older brothers." He continues, voice raising slowly in a crescendo. "And _maybe_ my brothers didn't love me as much as Prim loved you. And _maybe_ my mother wasn't perfect. And _maybe_ it was really only my dad who seemed like he cared about me. They were still my family."

I'm greatly taken aback by all of this, and I don't even try to think of a reply. Of course I knew all of this already, he just never seemed so upset by it before. They also weren't the happiest of people either.

"Also you say that they 'even took me away'," He used his index and middle finger on each hand to make air quotes as he said it. "but I've been trying really hard to get back to you. I just wish you could see that. It's okay to be sad and angry, but don't take it out on the ones who bothered sticking around for you."

I open my mouth to try to speak but he stops me. "You know, I came here to apologize to you tonight. I have no idea what I was thinking."

"You were?" That's honestly why he showed up?

"Of course I was!" His shout creates a small echo in the otherwise soundless room. I'm left speechless for a moment, now feeling more guilty and small than I ever have been in my life.

"I'm sorry." My words sounded soft compared to his, the numbness in my face had started to fade. So had my callousness. He doesn't respond. "Peeta, I really am sorry."

"Damn right you're sorry." Peeta muttered to himself as he made his way to the door. It was truly jarring, I don't think I've ever heard Peeta curse before.

My eyebrows furrowed as I thought of what to do. I slowly raise my arms up and call out to him. He give me one look, and only shakes his head in response.

"No. You're being really selfish right now." The front door opens and then slams shut. Leaving me with only silence and all of its consequences.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Even a pro like Peeta has his breaking point. I feel like this could have used more description personally, but every time I wrote some out it just sounded artificial.<p>

Special thanks to Electra and Tinker, I'm really flattered by what you said and I hope you guys enjoy this chapter too. I know a lot of people, as well as myself, reads this stuff for fluff and I assure you it's coming. However the next update won't be as fast as this one, I have a bunch of projects due this week so the soonest it will be up is the weekend or sometime next week.

Thank you for reading and giving me your input!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"I honestly don't know why you crazy kids keep coming to me for advice." Haymitch stated bluntly as we watched the sun rise for the day.

It was an unusually cold morning, specially for this time of year, so Haymitch had given me an old brown wool blanket to keep myself warm while we sat on the back porch. It smelled lightly sour, indicating that milk was at one time spilled on it but apparently it never got around to being washed. I was grateful for the gesture of hospitality however.

"I didn't come for advice, I came because I knew you were awake." I said flatly. "Besides, I haven't seen Peeta in a week."

It was true, I hadn't seen him since our fight. I didn't even attempt to try to find him and talk to him about it. Partially because I have been soaking deep in a pool of self loathing, but mostly because he is probably still mad at me. I would have to face Peeta eventually, I knew that, but I was in no hurry to instigate a meeting.

The air is sweet and the muted orange and yellow had started to fade from the narrow strip on the horizon as the sky slowly started to turn into its complete robin's egg blue. I stare into the great vastness of the world around me, feeling pathetically small and insignificant. Which in turn make my problems seem momentarily meaningless. Just me and the sky.

A gentle breeze rustles my hair while it pushes back the already open door to hit against the wall with a light thunk. I was worried about the geese wandering into his home, but Haymitch insisted it stay open. His reasoning was that the place needed to be aired out a bit. I did not protest.

"So, what was it about this time?" My mentor's uninterested voice brings everything crashing back on me.

"My father." I reply simply, not breaking my gaze from the horizon.

In the first time, in a very long while, I had dreamt of him. I was a child again, riding on his shoulders through our forest and feeling unnaturally tall. I remember that I felt like I could almost touch the tops of the gigantic trees around us. Tiny hands grab on to his brown hair tightly, but he doesn't seem to mind. Father's carefree and gentle laugh fills my ears and for a moment everything felt right again.

That was until I felt the heat.

I look down to see what was wrong only to find my father covered in thick ash. No, he was made of it. Instinctively pulling my hands back with a gasp, he sensed my concern. He asked me what was wrong but refused to look up at me. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind suddenly came along blowing him into a gigantic gray cloud of dust. I let out a short shriek as I tumbled down through the air like a rag doll and towards the forest floor.

Down, down, down.

I awoke suddenly, feeling my whole body jerk at once. Normally after a nightmare I'm left feeling terrified and afraid to move. This time I just felt the bitter hollow emotion of loneliness. I remember looking out my window first, thinking momentarily of Peeta before recalling what had happened last time I saw him. I needed company though, which ultimately brought me to Haymitch and his birds.

The older man who sits to my left does not ask me to elaborate, which I am thankful for. We simply sit, enjoying eachother's company even if we both don't want to admit it. A strange anticipation hangs between us though, a certain type of restlessness which implies that there is something on his mind. I do not ask, mostly because I know probably won't get an answer.

Suddenly, there is a determined knock at the door, just loud enough for us to hear it from the porch. Haymitch looked at me and nodded his head in the sound's direction.

"You're the guest, you get it." He lazily says as he gives me a glance.

"I don't think that's how it works, Haymitch." My gaze narrows but Haymitch does not budge.

The person knocked again, a little harder this time. I roll my eyes in defeat and mutter a 'fine' as I pull myself up out of the wicker chair. I walk through the back living room area to the kitchen and then to the front entryway.

"Yes?" I inquire as I open the door, not sure who I am supposed to be expecting.

Peeta is standing there in the morning sun, holding a loaf of seed bread in a brown bag. Surprise is painted clearly on his face, but not a single word is said from either of us. For what felt like a solid minute we just stand there, looking at each other and waiting for the other to make a move. Then he abruptly shoves the sack into my hands and starts to leave in the opposite direction towards his end of Victors' Village.

"Peeta!" I toss the bag down in the entry way, surly Haymitch won't mind. "Peeta wait!"

His pace quickens as he tries desperately to put some space between the two of us. I have to jog a bit to catch up to him, but close the gap in a matter of minutes.

"Go away, Katniss. I don't feel like talking to you." He tried his best to seem reserved over this conflict but his subtext screamed otherwise.

"Look, about what I said I-" I begin to try to explain myself but he cuts me off quickly.

"You don't need to elaborate on it." Peeta stops walking in his tracks but still refuses to look at me.

"Will you just listen!" My foot stamps with impatience, eyes burrowing into the back of his head. "I'm trying to apologize to you!"

He turns to face me and simply crosses his arms expectantly. "Okay."

I really hadn't thought much about what I was going to say once I got this chance. My cheeks start to burn as I shakily try to give him a confession of my deepest regrets and guilt.

"I was a jerk and I'm sorry." Well that came out a bit shorter than I would have liked. The moment hung in the air as he gives me a very blank look.

"You're not very good at apologizing." Peeta remarks, expression unchanging.

I let out a groan of frustration. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't _want_ you to say anything." Arms uncross, making himself look less defensive and tone sounding much more light hearted. "If you really are sorry then I forgive you."

My heart skips a beat as a huge weight has been taken off it. "You're not still mad at me then?"

A shy, child-like grin breaks out on his lips. "No, not really."

It looked almost a little bit strange, it have been so long since I'd seen him smile like that. Not a forced one, I'd seen plenty of those, but a real one. It was so similar to the ones I would see at school before all this madness happened to us. Right before a joke, with his friends, or those times when I caught a glimpse of him looking at me. This one in particular was more important than the others to me. It gives me hope that old Peeta is still here, just lurking beneath the surface.

I should be upset at him for making me think he was more angry than he really was and not talking to me for a week. But I'm too caught up in the fact that he actually is starting to behave close to normal to fully dwell on it.

"Will you come for dinner then?" I don't even think of inviting him more so then the question just fell out of my mouth independently.

"I'll see you later." His pleased look on his face only widens as he turns to continue his journey.

"Does that mean you're coming?" My voice shouts back after him, but my only answer is a small wave of his hand.

I briefly wonder if this ambiguous response was some kind of new strategy of his.

I continued work on the book once I got home figuring it would be a good way to clear my mind and focus on something else. Besides, if Peeta was coming over I could get him to do the illustrations tonight.

I decided would work on the other tributes from the 74th Hunger Games. Many of the entries were shorter than I wanted, but it was mainly because I didn't know too much about the tributes from those districts. Maybe Haymitch would know, I'd been meaning to ask him about Mags but he hadn't been sober enough recently.

The pages immerses me, making me work through lunch and into the late afternoon. Thresh, Cato, Marvel, and Clove. I can't help but shiver a bit when I come to the female from district two, the one who came so close to getting me.

Her last moments with me play out vividly in my head, tight fingers pulling my hair to the ground. How she mused about how she was going to mutilate me, and taunting me about Rue which would ultimately lead to her demise. She was a piece of work, but even now I felt a small, very small, ounce of pity. Monsters like Clove aren't born, they are created. This fact makes me wonder greatly about district two and the people that live there.

I was just about to start work on Glimmer's entry, purposely leaving Rue for last, when Greasy arrived to begin dinner. Again little Vivi was nowhere to be seen.

"Vivi's with Peeta again?" I inquire, looking up briefly from Glimmer's page.

She nods and explains that she went over there earlier just to stop by and pick up some baked goods that she ordered. Vivi started to throw a fit when they tried to leave so Peeta said that she could stay.

"He said he would be coming over here anyways in the evening," She continues, "and maybe then she'll be more willing to go."

"She's really taken a shining to him." It makes sense though. Peeta's kind and gentle nature would appeal to children very well.

I continue writing about Glimmer, or at least what I knew about her, all the while feeling strangely happy that I now know for a fact that Peeta will be joining us shortly. I write about her gold see-through dress that she wore to her interview and the tribute token that concealed the poison spike.

In my peripheral vision I see Greasy stop in the middle of chopping up the veggies and stand erect, trying to listen to something. I'm about to ask what's wrong but soon I hear it too. There is a soft sound coming from outside, just barely audible. She turns to look at me and locking eyes with me, both of us knowing instinctively what it is. We both drop what we're doing and hurry to the entry way. High pitched sobs come from the front door grow in volume the closer we get to it.

Greasy practically rips the door off it's hinges when she throws it open.

With that, Vivi rushes in so quickly she looks like a blur of color. Gnawing on her hand and whimpering like a wounded animal. The little girl darts to the corner of the kitchen, fearful panic filling up her eyes. Immediately Greasy and I go over, trying to at least get her to stop biting her hand. We finally coax it out of her mouth, but the small Vivi is still hysterical.

"What is it?" Greasy shakes her gently by the shoulders. "What's wrong?"

"Peeta." She manages through the sniffles, "Peeta!"

* * *

><p>Author's note: <strong>READ PLEASE!<strong> Okay so here's the deal. There is a major plot twist with this story that at one time I was sold on, but now I'm not so sure.

I need your advice.

So I'm asking you (Yes you! Right there in front of the computer!) or at least one-two of you to give me input. So if you don't mind hearing some spoilers of the story and have the uncanny ability to tell me if something sounds like a shit idea then please either say so in a review that you would be interested or just PM me, which might be a bit more convenient.

Sorry for a somewhat short and boring chapter, but chapter 5 is quickly on it's way and much more exciting so look for it in the next couple of days. Thanks for reading, reviewing, favorite-ing, and alerting.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

That was the first time I think I had ever heard the little Vivi speak, but I don't need to hear anymore. I burst out of my home and race over to Peeta's, not caring to listen to what Greasy Sae is yelling at me as I run. It's a flashback, I know it. Everything in me is screaming to go find Haymitch first. I shouldn't go alone, but right now I don't care. What Peeta means to me is still a subject that is confusing, but one thing I know for certain is that he is _something_ to me and I have to act.

The door is ajar when I get there. I slowly push it open to an empty stone entryway and stop for a moment. My ears strain to try to pick up on any sound coming through the house, trying desperately to pinpoint where he is before approaching.

It seems that I don't have to rely on my ears though. When I take a look to my left, where the front hallway opens up to the kitchen, I can clearly see where the conflict happened. A white painted chair lays on its side surrounded by scattered paper and drawing pencils.

"Peeta?" I call out to him, figuring it would be best not to sneak up on him. Stillness is my only answer, so I cautiously walk into the doorway of the kitchen.

I quickly scan the room, searching for answers which I find very quickly. He's standing oddly stiff and to the right of the kitchen sink where a pile of dirty dishes sit in neat stacks. A jagged gash slowly leaks a small stream of crimson from the base of his palm, which is only a few inches from his face, and into the murky water below. Near him, a sliver of glass glints at me, stained with red.

"Are you alright?" I ask, staying in the doorway to keep a good distance between us just in case.

His body turns out towards me, his gaze quickly darting to the ground. "Katniss, you're here. Real or not real?"

"Real."

"Please go," His voice docile and groggy, almost as if he was just starting to wake up from a dream. "I'm going to hurt you."

Suddenly, eyes snap up to mine. Pupils almost fully dilated, and Peeta is lost in a haze of false memories.

A white plate comes whirring at my head and I make a quick side step into the room. It misses me by a couple of inches and shatters on the door frame. Adrenaline already starts to kick in as my heart drums faster behind my ears.

"I told you to get away!" Yelling this time and taking a step back, almost as if he was surveying the area to make an attack.

"Peeta, it's okay." I try to keep my voice calm and low as I cautiously move towards him. "None of this is real, you're just-"

"Lying whore." The words snarls out, "You're here to finish it."

"Finish _what _Peeta?" My voice cracks a bit. "I would never hurt you, you know that."

"Then where's my family?" He's by the table now, giving it a quick glance for some sort of weapon I assume.

"That wasn't me, it was the capitol. Don't you remember?" It was hard not to yell back, fight fire with fire, but I restrain myself.

I want to go on but I stop for a moment to study him. Peeta's once wrathful sneer begins to fade into a blank expression.

"They bombed twelve then they bombed thirteen again." He's coming back now, this will be over soon. "The Capitol tried to kill us but they didn't. You saved us Peeta."

One hand wanders over to the kitchen table's chair, gripping it tightly. However, his gaze does not move from me. I go closer, still taking each step with care, stopping once in a while to make sure he won't attack me, until I stand a few paces away from him.

"Come on, let's get out of here." His eerie cool stare ceases to leave. "Greasy can take a look at your hand."

"If you were actually smart you would have killed me when you killed them." The words form a dark smirk on his face.

He takes a quick lunge at me. I turn to run, but it's my long black braid that betrays me. It's snagged and jerked back with a quick snap, causing my neck to make an audible pop. An urgent yelp escapes as my knees buckle, making me fall to the floor. Then, a sound freezes me to my core. The sharp sound of glass sliding off a smooth surface.

My panicked hand flies up to my braid, releasing it from his with a solid yank. I scramble to my feet, but Peeta has the advantage. His free left hand is thrown around my throat, knocking me and then pinning me to the kitchen's thick wooden table. Air escapes my lungs and I struggle to regain it as his fingers tighten. Right hand armed with the glass shard is drawn back mechanically, ready to strike. I lift my leg up, ready to kick out hard into his stomach before he has a chance to swing at me.

Then, for that fatal moment, there was hesitation on both ends. It's not until I look into his deep cerulean eyes do I see why.

He's struggling. There are two separate thought progressions happening at the same time, but I can't tell who's winning. The Peeta I know, the one who is so desperately trying to get home, or Snow's twisted gift to me. More pressure on the glass causes it to bite deeper into his flesh, and more dark red dribbles down. The metallic smell fills my nostrils.

"Peeta." Desperation rises as I choke down the lump in my throat. His mind is a complex labyrinth, full of twists, turns, and dead ends. I want so badly to help him, to show him the way out.

Then, slowly, his fingers loosen on the fragment letting it limply drop to the table. Familiarity comes back into his face as he begins to realize where he is. Slow, ragged breaths while his eyes clench shut, but his hand does not move from my neck.

Before I can react, I hear a commotion of footsteps in the front hall. For a half a second everything was still.

"Aw hell." A gruff voice groans, quickening his pace into the kitchen.

Haymitch's large rough hand reaches Peeta's in moments, prying his fingers off from me. Instinctively, the hand that is gripping the chair flies towards the disturber's face. With surprising agility he was able to catch it by the wrist. Peeta thrashes against him in return, muttering insults while Haymitch struggles to keep him contained.

"Boy, listen to me." The older man says through clenched teeth. His face gets spat on in return.

Haymitch's face twists up in rage as he gives him a violent shake, "Cut it out!"

"Stop it! You'll hurt him!" I leap up from the table and placed my hands around my old mentor's shoulders to try to stop him. As I do so Peeta's eye lids flutter open to expose his shocked expression.

"I-I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it." Panic rising and on the verge of tears. Attention quickly focusing on the ground. His form wilts but Haymitch keeps a light grasp of his hands for safety.

"You." My mentor gives me a harsh glare as I drop my hands. "Leave. Now."

"Why?" It's impossible to hide my exasperation.

"Just go."

"No! I won't!" This isn't fair, why can't I stay to make sure he's alright?

"Please go Katniss." The soft meek sound belongs to Peeta, face refusing to look up at me.

A flame of anger builds up in the pit of my stomach. I say nothing to either of them as the heels of my boots make staccato punctuation across the room and to the front door. I don't even bother to shut it when I make my exit.

* * *

><p>"Come on, girl. You're not honestly angry are you?" Haymitch rolls his eyes at me.<p>

He had come back to my home later in the evening to see how I was fairing and I was doing my best to shun him. Sitting on the couch in the back room, legs crossed underneath me and glaring straight ahead of myself. The old man is right though. I'm not angry at Peeta. How can I be? It's not his fault that he's like this. It's mine and mine alone.

"How is he?" I finally say as he takes a seat beside me.

"Fine now. Won't even need stitches for his hand. Locked himself up in his room though." Haymitch gives a small nod. "He's very shaken up over what happened but he'll live."

"How did you know?"

"Well apparently, unlike some people, Greasy has common sense. She came over right after you apparently raced over there to tell me that there was something wrong."

I don't reply.

"Look, I don't mean to bite your head off." He sighs, softening slightly. "I'm just trying to protect you two. Peeta would never forgive me if I let him do something terrible to you."

My heart plummets, _'let him do something terrible' _the even the thought that a person would say that about Peeta makes me cringe. It's strange, feeling this defensive about him. We've always protected each other since the day we teamed up in the arena, so maybe it's not too unusual to think this way.

"Does this have something to do with these mysterious 'questions' he asks about me." I sound slightly sarcastic.

"Yeah," Haymitch says with great clarity. "it does."

I give my full attention to him for the first time during this conversation. The quizzical look fortunately prompts some explanation.

"It started out with little things he was too embarrassed to ask you. Like when your birthday was." He pauses for a moment. "Then it became bigger ones like the time in thirteen."

The bits of the memories play in my head. His hands around my neck and how long it took me to black out. All those things he said about me, not to mention how depressed and confused I was. It was all in the past though, and I knew that Peeta, the real Peeta, would never think of doing those things to me. He was too kind. Too gentle.

"He made me promise to make sure it wouldn't get that bad again." His tone grows increasingly grim. "To do something about it if it did."

"You wouldn't." I interjected, horrified.

Haymitch turns his palms towards me. "No, never. You know that. We take care of our own here." His face quickly turns sour. "God, for you to even suggest."

"Sorry." I mutter.

"He doesn't mean it anyways. He just doesn't want to be responsible for hurting you again."

"I can take care of myself." This cold, yet childish, remark causes Haymitch to give a puff of stifled laughter.

"Sure thing sweetheart." His arrogance never ceases to amaze me.

"You're boring sober." Even I knew that was a weak stab at him, even with my best scowl. It only seems to make him more amused by me.

There is nothing more to say to him, and I excuse myself for bed. It was moot, I knew that sleep wouldn't reach me tonight even if I tried. Sleep isn't restful anymore, and it hasn't been for a long time. The horrors that lurk in my mind don't need to emerge tonight, not after everything that has happened.

I opened the door to my bedroom upstairs, my camber of solitude. Moonlight illuminated the room softly through my tightly closed curtains. It was the only thing keeping the shadows at bay and for that I was grateful.

I wandered to my nightstand, hand absentmindedly pulled open the drawer to let out the familiar rattle of an old friend. My hand finds the pearl that Peeta gave me effortlessly. It's the first time I've held it since I got home and I'm surprised that it is smaller than I remembered.

The lopsided sphere is no bigger than a seed. There is a strange twinge of guilt that comes with it. It used to bring me comfort and hope, but now it just feels like a ritual that has lost all of it's meaning. Perhaps that's the reason why it had remained shut up in my bedside table for so long.

The problem isn't with the pearl, it's with me.

I climb into bed and pull back the soft green curtain, letting more silvery light shine through the room. Looking out briefly on the sleeping district my mind begins to lurk into the darker regions of my thoughts. The people I killed. Peeta and the unspeakable things they did to him. I clutch the pearl tighter, but I can still feel the tears building up. I grab the pillow behind me and hug it tightly as if I could just force all my troubles into it. It's no use though, and I bury my head in it as my sobs become stronger.

My body starts to tremble from my hysteria as Cinna, also tortured for my sake, wanders into my mind stinging like a fresh wound. Poor Cinna. Poor, kind, and brave Cinna. I wonder briefly of what they did to him, but force it out of my head to avoid hurting myself more. Just another one I couldn't save, but who I miss so dearly. To the very end he believed in me, but for what? The Capitol has been overthrown, a new order is in power, but there is still so much sadness.

I gaze once more into the night thinking about Peeta's open window, wondering if he too was struggling with sleep tonight. The road to recovery now seems longer than ever, and it has become apparent that I can no longer do this alone.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Okay so that is the last time that I give you guys a rough estimate on when a new chapter is coming. I ended up trashing my first draft and wound up with a horrid case of writers block. Just trust that I have not forsaken you and that the new chapter will be here before you know it.<p>

Thanks to everyone who volunteered to give their opinions about the plot twist. I now have a pretty clear picture of where I want this to go thanks to your input. There were a few of you I wasn't able to get back with, and I'm sorry. It's nothing personal trust me, I just got caught up in writing this that I forgot to message back. I do think you will be pleased with what I've come up with.

Also special thanks to my new beta reader Sir Nic, when I was freaking out a little bit on what I should do with this chapter he was able to reign me in and keep me focused.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

I wait for him the next morning on the cobble stone street of Victor's Village as the dew begins to solidify on the grass around me. Any minute now, I tell myself, any moment. He'll have to leave, he has deliveries to make after all. But the house seems cold and quiet, not even a light could be seen from the windows.

After stalling myself for just a few more seconds disappointment begins to set in. I force myself to think that it's because he's sleeping in, but I know better. I promised myself that I would try my luck later as I headed down to my home.

The three tails of my quarry are clutched tightly in my fist, swinging slightly with my stride. All but one are shot through the eye, proving that they were not the focus of my attention this morning. None the less Greasy will be pleased and will probably whip up some strange, albeit tasty, dish.

My free hand dips into my pocket, fishing out the pearl I had re-oriented myself with last night. I let play between my fingers. It doesn't solve my anxiety over Peeta, but it's nice to have a somewhat mindless task to focus on.

I go to my back porch once I get home and plant myself on the steps. My small utility knife just began to clean the first squirrel when Buttercup rushes to my side with anticipation. His places his small paws on my leg, mewing pathetically and licking his lips. When I ignore him, he begins to paw at my hands, meows becoming more pointed.

"Glutton." I mutter disparagingly, but give the feline what he wants: the slightly warm entrails of today's catch.

In this small period of time it almost feels as if nothing has changed. Another morning spent hunting and as always the stupid cat was at my side while cleaning my catch. The air was warm, signifying the first real day of summer was upon District 12. It would be Prim's birthday soon. I'm not really sure what she would want exactly, but I could always pick up some hair ribbons from the market-

I stop my train of thought immediately and my knife digs into the second squirrel. I can't afford to start thinking like this so early in the day. Focus on happier things, like the food that will be made from the squirrels. Or seeing Peeta later. Well that is _if_ he will let me in when I knock on the door.

I toss more scraps to Buttercup, which he is more than happy to eat. I look to the third and final squirrel who was nearly decapitated when I shot it through the neck. My fault for not concentrating, but it didn't damage the main parts of the meat. Overall the three would make for a very generous meal.

Greasy arrives in the mid morning and of course leaves for the afternoon, never making mention to me about the events that happened last night. While she's away I make myself do little tasks around the house like straitening up or doing laundry I haven't bothered with for days. When it seems like I have run out of things to do, I go to the merchant district for a little while hoping to catch some familiar faces.

A significant number of people have returned to twelve, but our population will never be as large as it was before the bombs. I caught a glimpse of Thom in the market place, but he seemed a bit busy so I didn't peruse him. A few other people who were either friends of my mother or my father stumble into view as well, but I see no sign of the Hawthornes. Perhaps they decided to live with Gale in two.

If my feelings about Peeta were just confusing, then those for Gale are near insanity. He was my best friend, my confidant and we had been something more... for a small period of time. He was also the one responsible for my sisters death and abandoned me after the war. One could say I could just call him and find some closure, but even if I __wanted__to, I didn't have his number. It's for the best, I remind myself, we've both changed so much, it would probably only hurt worst to find out what he is like now.

I return home for dinner with Greasy which is some kind of rice and meat dish. When I finally ask about Peeta she informs me that she hasn't seen him all day and that word around town is he's taking a few days off.

"Personal days I believe they call them sometimes." She explains as if I didn't know what she was talking about. "I'm sure you understand."

I do, but that doesn't make less motivated to try to see him today. I pack up the left overs in a small bowl and tie it up with a handkerchief. When I make it down to Peeta's house it looks like nothing has changed. The building is still, looking cold and dark, but I confidentiality walk up to the front door and knock on it. Nothing. I knock on it once more. Again, nothing. I give up for the time being, but leave the food there for him. I'm uncertain that he will even open the door to pick it up, but I am pleased when I see the next morning that the bowl is gone.

The next two days pass by like clock work. Hunt at night, wait for Peeta in the early morning, go home, clean my catch, breakfast with Greasy, dinner with Greasy, leave left overs for Peeta. Over and over without me taking my much recognition besides how worn I feel. I was able to fight off sleep for a while but dozed off for one night. Fortunately the nightmare was a minor one, but it was enough to motivate me to force myself to stay awake the next.

I knock on Peeta's door every evening when I bring him food, and it takes him till the fourth day to finally answer.

Greasy had made meat pies that day from a wild turkey I shot and I had saved one for him. When I rap on the entrance I expect him not to answer, but when I bring my fist do the door for the second time it opens.

Standing behind it is a slightly disheveled Peeta. Hair is slightly messy, like it had been done in a hurry, and wearing a plain white cotton shirt with worn jeans. The bruise colored bags under his eyes hint that he has been getting the same amount of sleep that I have.

"Hey." Immediately my mind is run amok with questions. Like what has he been doing for the past few days, and does he enjoy making me worry about him like this, but I stick to one that is significantly less confrontational. "Can I come in?"

Peeta seems to put some serious thought into before answering, his face looking bleak. "I guess, only for a bit though."

The kitchen had obviously been cleaned up and placed back into order. Even the papers that were strewn around had been gathered and neatly stacked on the table with the small row of pencils beside them. Things did seem a bit too tidy though, making it apparent that he hasn't baked or drawn anything in a while. I place the package on the table, making sure not to disturb anything.

"Forks?" I ask and he motions to the third drawer to the left.

I find one and hand it to him as he takes a seat. I take a seat next to Peeta and expect him to start eating but it's apparent that there are other things on his mind. His stature deflates as he blankly looks at the bundle with a lack of appetite.

Finally, he spoke.

"I thought I was getting better." His voice quivers a bit, and I can tell he's fighting back tears as he shades his eyes with his hands, hiding them from me. "We even had that horrible fight which should have prompted at least something, but it didn't."

I seeing him so defeated. Instinctively I want to hold him, just to prove to him that I am alright and and un-afraid. However when I reach across and place a comforting hand on his arm he shifts away. I try to hide the streak of pain that followed his rejection of my comfort.

"What set you off?" I ask instead.

"It's stupid." He shakes his head, embarrassed. "I was doing the dishes before going over to your place. A glass fell out of the cabinet as I was putting it away, a large chunk of it fell into the water so I tried to fish it out."

There was a small puff of nervous laughter, he produced his palm to me and elaborated. "It's funny. It was one of the first things Mom told me never to do. God, she would be so mad at me."

A melancholy look flashes across his face for a moment and, like always, I don't know what to say to make it better. Instead I make a glance at his palm, it looks mostly healed besides some small scabs here and there. "Healed up nicely."

"Yeah." Peeta removes his hand and picks up a small stack of papers. Sighing, slightly. "Also these didn't help."

My interest is apparent and he hands me four sheets with the names __Jacob, Shelli, Fillo, __and __Taft__each on separate slips. His family. His kind father Jacob stands out the most to me. Though his name is printed neatly on the page the sketch is no more than a wavy circle and a few lines. It was almost as if Peeta suddenly forgot how to hold a pencil properly.

Again, I'm at loss for words. "Peeta. I-"

"It's okay," He takes the pages back, glancing momentarily at the clumsily drawn shapes. "I really should have known better than to try to finish them all at once. I just wanted to get them all done so we could put them in the book."

"We still can."

"I don't know. I had to fight off flashbacks once I started them." Peeta gives them a plaintive look before returning them to bottom of a stack of similar sized paper.

"It's not safe for you to be here." My disappointment must have been clearly visible because he goes on to explain. "It's not that I don't want to be around you, I just don't want any more accidents."

I rise to my feet, but I have no intention of leaving without him. My mind quickly rushes for an solution to our problem. I am not good at words, but maybe I could take him somewhere to get his mind off of all of this. Peeta has never been one to thrive in solitude, he's not like me. He needs human interaction on a daily basis.

Initially, I'm a little put off of the idea of bringing Peeta to the lake. It seemed to be something that was too private, too personal. A place for only my father and me. Then I remember everything that has happened to us and find it silly to keep it secret from him now.

"I want to show you something." I offer my hand to him, but he looks at it in confusion.

He seems to push himself back into the chair, trying to distance himself. "Katniss, I don't know."

"You need to get out of the house."

"What if I have another attack?" Sandy blond eyebrows knit together.

"We'll worry about it then." My candid answer is obviously not what he wanted to hear.

"I can _not _believe how lightly you are taking this!" His large palms grip down on the chair's arms, but out of anxiety and puzzlement instead warding off bad memories. "I really could have hurt you last time."

"But you didn't." I carefully remind him.

"That doesn't mean that I can't!" His expression is broken at this revelation.

"Just trust me!" I demandingly push my open palm closer to him, reminding him of the invite. "Okay?"

Peeta looks at it quietly, then back up to me. Reluctantly, he takes it and helps himself up without saying another word to me.

With that, we're off. Out the door, down through the now empty market place. Into the seam, where people are starting to wind down for the evening. A couple of people even greet us while we bustle through the rows of rebuilt homes. I give them a simple wave, but refuse to let go of Peeta's hand. I don't want him to have a change of heart and lock himself up for four more days.

We reach the thick row of trees in moments; their colors taking on a slight orange hue as the sun starts its slow decent from the sky. The lake isn't too far away and I know the sun will give us at least a few hours if Peeta doesn't want to stay after dark. Maneuvering through the thickets as I follow my mental map that has been my guide for almost as long as I have been alive. Peeta's hand still laced with mine but I can still feel his uneasiness, he's practically green with it himself.

"Listen, nothing is going to happen." I give his hand a small squeeze of reassurance as I turn to look at him in slowly fading light. "But if it does, I know this place better than you. I can easily get away."

"And you'll be able to find me again?" Though my hand relaxes, his doesn't.

"Of course." Corners of my mouth twitch up at the idea. "Even when we are in danger you are as loud as a herd of elephants."

I continue to lead him through the forest, but when he doesn't say anything I give him another glance back. My eyes catch Peeta, who's gaze has not left me, with a wide grin almost stretching from ear to ear.

"What?" I almost laugh at the goofy expression on his face. "That wasn't actually funny was it?"

"No of course not." His voice, familiar and warm, teased me as his beam muted itself softly. "It's just been so long since I've seen you smile."


End file.
